


Inside Out and Upside Down

by TantalumCobalt



Series: Family Bonds [1]
Category: James Bond (Movies), Mission: Impossible (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Brothers, Clint Barton & Will Brandt Are Twins, Finding Family, Fury Knows All, Gen, James is clueless, Natasha helps, Newfound relatives, Siblings, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7473402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TantalumCobalt/pseuds/TantalumCobalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes life falls apart in the best way.</p><p> </p><p>Aka James Bond finds out he has brothers. Attempts at bonding ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside Out and Upside Down

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm supposed to be studying, but this happened instead. Oops?

There are two things James Bond knows for sure about his family. One: he's an only child. And two: he's an orphan.

There are also two things James Bond has no idea about his family. One: he's not an only child. And two: he's adopted.

So when he gets a phone call late one night from a Colonel Nicholas J Fury informing him that his presence is required immediately in New York City because of a family emergency... Well, it comes as a bit of a shock. Deciding to actually follow the instructions he's given is four-fifths curiousity and one-fifth boredom (damned M and his damned compulsory leave orders).

"I'll be blunt, Mr Bond," Fury says when James gets off the plane at a private airfield outside the Big Apple. "It's not looking good. It might be too late for you to get to know Clint, but Will's gonna need you."

Beating around the bush is evidently as far from Fury's disposition as giving an explanation that actually explains anything. "Yeah, about that," James begins. "Who the hell are Clint and Will?"

Fury does that things that (over the years) becomes as familiar as it is annoying, where he tilts his head and fixes you with a deadpan stare, eyebrows lifting just the tiniest bit. The staring lasts for several seconds before he turns away and begins walking towards a sleek black Range Rover. The words he tosses over his shoulder hang in the air between them.

"I hope you like surprises, Mr Bond."

No. He very much doesn't.

\--

If seeing Will is a surprise - haggard and distant when Fury corners him in the hospital waiting room - and seeing Clint is a shock - pale and unmoving amidst the tubes and machines - then seeing them together is a whole other world of incredulous. Younger brothers is hard enough to comprehend on its own, but somehow younger twin brothers makes it that much more difficult to swallow.

"This is a joke," he tells Fury, though his eyes don't leave the two lookalikes.

"I assure you it isn't, Mr Bond," the other man replies. His tone is serious, face expressionless, but James is sure that eye is laughing at him.

The British spy shakes his head. "No, if I had brothers - twin brothers - I'd know about it."

"Just like you knew you were adopted?"

He'll deny it later, but the new voice startles him. The person accompanying it even more so. Long red curls, emerald green eyes, petite body beneath a leather jacket and jeans, casual grace in every movement. Familiar face. 

James reaches for a gun that suddenly isn't there. That's okay; his hands work just as well. 

"James Bond, meet Natasha Romanoff." That one-eyes bastard sounds amused. "She's one of my best agents. I'd ease off on that chokehold, if I were you - attempting to kill her would be both humiliating and detrimental to any chance of getting to know your brothers."

Yeah. Not happening. Not until he has some answers.

"She works for you? Who the fuck are you people?"

Fury procures an honest to god business card from the folds of his coat. "SHIELD," he says, tone just this side of melodramatic. "You may have heard of us."

SHIELD? _The_ SHIELD? James let's his hands drop back to his side, doesn't try to stop Romanoff when she slips past him and enters the hospital room. His newfound twin brothers are part of SHIELD - _the_ SHIELD - and apparently friends (or something) with the Black Widow. Oh and one of them is possibly dying as he gapes at the mess that his life has become.

How much worse can it get?

(Dammit James, you just had to ask....)

\--

In yet another shocking turn of events, Clint recovers with a grand total of zero lasting affects. Unless you count constant brotherly concern as a lasting effect - which he apparently does by the way he grumbles about Will's motherhenning. Any concern James may or may not have doesn't count because - in Clint's words - he's just "an asshole with a British accent".

The redhead assassin who is permanently attached to one or both of the twins' sides gives him an abysmal one out of ten for brotherly bonding. He gives her the best glare he can muster in return. Doesn't she know this bonding lark is a two way street? It's not like his brothers are making much effort either.

No, that's a lie (yet another one in the long list of lies that his life has become). Will makes an effort - small as it may be - it's just Clint who rejects his existence with the same zeal with which he ignores medical advice. 

"Abandonment issues," a moron in a black tactical outfit confides with a sneer. James doesn't know his brothers all that well but he knows enough to know that _that_ isn't true. Call it what you want, but he feels completely justified in acquainting his fist with that moron's face.

(Romanoff gives him a nod of approval, but Will warns him that Clint will not be impressed if he hears about him defending his honour. They resolve any potential issues in that area by agreeing that Clint doesn't need to hear about him defending his honour.)

In the end, it's a Suit with a forgettable face who provides an acceptable explanation. "Barton's never had a lot of people. He's got Will, he's got Natasha and - when he's not being a magnificent bastard - they've got Nick. He doesn't trust easily, which makes him a good agent but not so good at being a semi-normal human being." A wry twist of thin lips. "I wish I could say he'll open up if you stick around long enough, show you're committed, but I've never had a sibling emerge out of thin air before so I really can't say."

James thanks him for the pep talk then goes back to having no idea what to do.

\--

Will leaves to get coffee - "Can you-" "Carol said no, Clint" "Spoilsport" - and Romanoff leaves a minute later to answer her phone - "What's he want now?" "I'll tell you when I know, jastreb" - so James is left alone with Clint. Now, James Bond is not known for turning his back on situations just because they fall outside his comfort zone, but this particular situation is one he was really hoping to avoid. It's fine when Will is there to mediate and Natasha is there to glare, but when they're not, the last thing the bedridden twin wants to do is play nice.

"You have no right to be here," he spits, glare as glacial as his tone. "Fury luring you out here with promises of a happy family doesn't give you permission to waltz in here like you're the big brother we've always wanted. News flash, _bro_ -" The usually affectionate nickname is sneered with disgust and venom. "-we don't need you. And we don't _want_  you either."

James listens silently while Clint gives his piece and then he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair so that he can prop one foot against the side of the bed. "It seems you've been misinformed," he remarks coolly. "Your Fury didn't promise me a happy family, he told me I was needed because one was falling apart. You were supposedly dying and Will was supposedly distraught and I was supposed to pick up the broken pieces of his life and stick them back together with lost love and cheap duct tape."

Clint snorts. "Well I'm very much alive so you can take your cheap duct tape and go back to drinking tea in your far off kingdom."

It's a point James has spent no small amount of time considering in the last two days. Could he just get up and walk out? Yes, he knows he could. Would he regret it? Hard to say. 

"You should get some rest, Clinton," he says lowly.

A muscle jumps in Clint's clenched jaw at the use of his full name. "I don't have to do what you tell me."

But he does it anyway. By the time Will returns, Clint is once more asleep and James is long gone.

\--

Romanoff corners him outside the building - SHIELD headquarters of some kind, not a proper hospital like he'd originally thought - as he's trying to hail a taxi. Crossed arms, looking him up and down behind designer sunglasses, smirk teasing the edges of her mouth. He makes a valiant effort to ignore her.

Eventually, she nods her head back towards the building. "Come on. We have cars, I'll drive you."

"You don't know where it is I want to go," James retorts. Another taxi passes - occupied, just like all the other bloody taxis that have driven by. He sighs at the amusement oozing off the redhead. "Okay, fine, but if you take me anywhere other than the airport I'll make sure you get that bullet I owe you express delivered."

She doesn't take him to the airport. Beneath the irritation, he really isn't surprised when she pulls into the underground carpark of an apartment complex instead. He is when she just tosses him a set of keys and tells him to let himself in.

"I have to run some errands," she says with a shrug. "Apartment 14B. Make yourself at home."

There's a lot of ways James could respond to that, but he settled with an incredulous, "What kind of spy would let another spy into their home unaccompanied? That's basically an invitation to search the place."

Romanoff flashes her teeth in a quick grin. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you to put everything back where you find it. Clint hates amateur spy jobs."

Then she's gone.

\--

There's a photo album in a shoebox on the top of the cupboard in the guest bedroom. James hesitates only a second before taking it out. He doesn't open it, though, just sits it on the coffee table and stares at it. There's a bottle of whiskey (unopened, his favourite kind, coincidence or not?) in the cupboard above the fridge so he digs out the glasses and pours himself a drink. Then he sits and stares some more.

Part of him wants to open the album, see what's inside, see what kind of life his younger brothers have lived. Was their childhood happy? Did they do well at school? Were mum and dad doting parents? What happened to make them join the shadow world? Have they always been so bloody identical - and not just in looks? 

That last question is the only one he feels comfortable guessing at. 

\--

A key in the lock shakes him out of a doze he didn't even realise he'd fallen into. His first thought is that Romanoff is being awfully loud for a world class spy-slash-assassin, then he hears the two sets of footfalls and realises she isn't alone.

"-dammit Tasha." Will, sounding tired and frustrated instead of his usual calm and collected. "Just let it go."

"I would if I thought you and your brother were capable of surviving without my interference."

"Yeah, well, half of us don't seem to be doing a great job of surviving even _with_ your interference."

"Lovers tiff?" James asks drily.

Will startles at the sound of his voice. Clearly Romanoff didn't inform him they were having guests.

"I thought you were gone," the younger man says. The tone of his voice is too hard for James' tired brain to pick apart, but the challenge in his expression is clear.

But is it a challenge to admit that he's maybe been persuaded (more like coerced) to stay? Or a challenge to take the hint and leave like he was planning to?

"Yeah, well, you know what they say; curiousity killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back," Romanoff chimes in. She pats Will on the shoulder then heads down the short hallway towards the bedrooms, calling over her shoulder: "You boys behave yourselves - and don't stay up too late!"

James begins to revise his earlier thoughts; being alone in a room with a pissed off Clint was bad enough, but being alone in a room with an expectant Will... that's a whole new level of "what the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

_Maybe- Nah._

_We could- No._

_How about- Definitly not._

Well fuck, this bonding shit is basically impossible. How the hell do those find my family shows do it?

\--

The photo album, it is revealed in the early hours of the morning, is a hoax. Will laughs at him when James asks about it, flipping open to a random page to show that it's actually empty. Insight about his younger brothers' lives will have to come from some good ol' fashioned interrogating then. But where to start...

Well how about the obvious?

"So you and Romanoff..."

"No."

James raises an eyebrow. "No?"

"Clint and Natasha," Will corrects.

Huh. Yeah, okay, that makes sense. Sort of. Because of course one of his brothers would be in a relationship with the Black Widow. That's just the kind of life he lives - well, the kind of life he lives now that he knows the aforementioned brothers exist.

"So how'd they meet? Spy club?"

Will shakes his head. Takes another gulp of whiskey. "If you want to know about Clint and Tasha you can ask one of them."

Okay, so twenty questions has rules then. He can work with that. "So what about you?"

"What about me?"

James shrugs. "Favourite colour, favourite food, best memory - whatever. It's not like I know anything other than that your name's Will and you're apparently my younger brother."

Will considers that for a moment, rolling his glass between his fingers. "At least you have a legend that precede you, I s'pose," he mutters. He nods decisively. "Okay, so how about a trade? I tell you something about me and you tell me something about yourself - preferably something that's not in your file because I've already read that. Twice."

Cheeky with a side of smartass. Maybe they are related after all.

\--

This is what James learns:

Will's favourite colour is blue ("Deep, almost navy or indigo, like the sky at sunset").

Will doesn't have a favourite food ("Anything Nat cooks is up there though - and Clint. You'd be surprised what he can do with a pan and a handful of mystery spices.").

Will's best memory is of the wintery Christmas when Clint brought Nat home for the first time ("you shoulda seen her face when she realised there were two of her partner").

Will isn't actually a spy ("I do work for an intelligence organisation, but I'm just an analyst".)

Will tends to devalue himself. Just an analyst? Please. Without analysts, spies wouldn't be able to do their jobs properly. (Besides, he's seen the way he moves and there's no way he's _just an analyst_.)

\--

Clint gets released from hospital after six days - on the strict condition that he follow the doctor's orders or his arse wil be back in a hospital bed - and Fury comes over for dinner. He comes bearing manilla folders and when Romanoff catches sight of them she threatens to throw him out. Literally. And not through the door.

Will is tapping his fingers against his thigh, his twin almost asleep on his shoulder, stormy eyes glimmering protectively. James sits back in the armchair in the corner of the room and thinks Nick Fury is a brave man to show up with a mission at a time like this.

"Really, Nick?" The Russian is seething. "Less than four hours and here you are already."

Fury gives her his famous look, although it's a step or two down from what anyone else would get for daring to speak like that to his face. "You invited me for dinner," he points out in a measured, reasonable tone.

That does nothing to placate the irate agent. "Because I thought you were bringing meatballs not orders!"

Fury rolls his eye. "They're not _for_ you - either of you." The one good eye shifts from her to her partner and back again before he nods in James' direction. "They're for him."

Well it has been almost a week, he's surprised M didn't come calling earlier.

\--

Leaving is easier when it's too dark to see where you're going or what you're leaving behind. So James packs silently and gets up to go before dawn. He's five steps from the door when he notices the figure on the couch.

"You're coming back, right?"

It's too hard to tell them apart without being able to see the faded bruises that mar the eldest twin's face and arms and torso. He'd put his money on Will, though, if only because he thinks Clint would rather see him go than stay. The blatant hostility suggests that, at least.

James considers the question for several long seconds before returning it with one of his own. "Do you want me to?"

There's a moment of considering silence. If it wasn't so cliche, Jamws would swear he could feel the tension, the expectation, squeezing the oxygen out of the room. He doesn't think he's holding his breath, but maybe he is.

Eventually his brother speaks. "Will does."

Clint, then. James cannot help the automatic "aren't you supposed to be resting?" that slips past his lips. Natasha is rubbing off on him already.

His younger brother shifts and the streetlight coming in through the blinds catches his smirk, obviously catching the slip that revealed James hadn't known which brother he was conversing with until then. He makes a mental note to spend all his time and energy figuring out different ways to tell them apart because he's sure that if he doesn't they'll never let him forget it. More than that, they'll use it to their advantage at every opportunity and wreak all kinds of havoc in his life (although they'll probably do that anyway).

"Nat says you'll be good at this big brother thing," Clint says quietly. "I'm not so easily convinced."

Finally, after several days of puzzling over how to get through to the older twin, everything clicks into place. That Suit had said that Clint didn't trust easily, that it takes time to get into the inner circle, so it makes sense that James has to prove that he deserves any trust that may be granted. Only now is he realising that the hostility wasn't because he didn't want him in their life  - well, not entirely - but rather a challenge to prove that he not only wants but deserves to be there.

It would have been much too simple to just give the older spy a chance. No, Clint has to force him to work for the title of big brother. Which, all things considered, is fair enough. 

Part of it was probably also the fact that Clint was as shocked by Fury's declaration as James himself was. It's not every day you wake up in hospital and find out that you've gained an extra family member in the time that you've been unconscious. And finding out that that extra family member has stolen your title of eldest child was probably a bit of a sore point too. 

James' lips curve upwards, hovering between a smirk and a smile. "I guess I'll have to prove you wrong then."

"I gues you will."

He hoists his bag higher on his shoulder and heads toward the door. He actually touches the cool metal of the handle this time before Clint's voice halts him again.

"You never answered my question," he points out. "About whether you're coming back."

James doesn't know how long M's latest orders will take to carry out; if could be hours, days, months. But... "It's a small world, I'm sure we'll run into each other at some point." Then, because top secret and classified can go to hell, he tacks on, "I hear Dhaka is nice this time of year."

"Dhaka?" his brother echoes with a grin. "I think SHIELD has interests in that area."

Even if they didn't before, they do now.

"I'll see you around, Clinton." The name isn't needling or snarky, this time, but warm. Brotherly.

"Yeah. See you around, bro." The term isn't biting or sarcastic, this time, but warm. Brotherly.

James never notices Natasha hidden in the shadows, listing to the exchange between the new brothers, but ten minutes after he's slipped out of the apartment and into the night, his phone buzzes with an incoming message;  ** _7/10_**. He smiles to himself as he types out a reply: **Not as bad as 1/10 I suppose.**

Two more messages come through in rapid succession. First:  ** _Could be better._**  Then: **_First Wednesday of next month is Fury's birthday. We're having a family get together. Can you cook?_**

**I can make pancakes.**

**_Great. You're on breakfast._ **

And that's how James Bond's life gets turned upside down, pulled apart, put in an industrial grade blender, then stuck back together in a completely different yet not completely awful way.

(Oh and Natasha is, of course, right; he is good at this big brother thing. It just takes a bit of practise and a lot of worrying over his stupid, idiotic, risk-taking (cough-Clint-cough) younger brothers before he gets there. Not to mention all the hours spent perfecting his pancake recipe...)


End file.
